


Needle and Thread

by Kirii_Bunie



Series: Linked universe [32]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Addiction, Blood, Gen, Hair Four, Knitting, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Needles, Skin, Stitching, author didn't know wtf she was doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:27:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24301324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirii_Bunie/pseuds/Kirii_Bunie
Summary: Four finds comfort in taking his needles and knitting and stitching. Weaving strands together to create works of art. It's soothing. It's nice. It's peaceful.
Series: Linked universe [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1539424
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33





	Needle and Thread

**Author's Note:**

> It is very clear that I'm running out of ideas

Four finds comfort in taking his needles and knitting and stitching. Weaving strands together to create works of art. It's soothing. It's nice. It's peaceful.

But soon, cloth no longer satisfies him.

After every battle, he will find himself a good candidate and find parts of their body that still have the flesh hanging. From there, he uses his needles and his hair and stitches them together, looping strands of string and hair. Once he finishes, he marvels at his work, admiring the beauty of each and every thread.

He does this several times to the point of even simply keeping some of their flesh until it is rotten. Red, blue, brown, black, pink, white, green, gold. So many vibrant and beautiful colors, all to be stitched into pretty patterns.

He knew that something was wrong with this mindset. He knew there was something wrong with him. He knew, he knew, he knew and yet, he can't stop himself. The colors give him such pleasure that he doesn't want to stop.

Four's careful, makes sure that he washes the skins and makes sure that no blood remains. He's gentle, making sure he doesn't tear anything too much. He doesn't care how the others look at him, either. For all they know, it could be a cultural thing, stealing the flesh of foes and stitch, stitch, stitching them together. And they don't ever comment anyway, so what does it matter.

_ 'It also gives my hair experience,' _ He tells himself, knowing very well that that isn't at all the case.  _ 'It's vital so that I can practice.' _

Even if he wasn't lying back then, he knows for a fact that he'd be lying now, as he tears his arm open only to grab a needle and pull it together using several different and pretty colors. Vibrant yellows and calming blues, angry reds and other earthy hues, all pulling and holding him together. It helps that he can't feel them, either. Otherwise, it'd be painful to get them inside in the first place.

He never makes any new cuts, either. Only removing the string of old ones and replacing them with other colors. And when he starts to rub off his skin, he stitches skin from monsters into his own with his hair, making sure that his vessel doesn't fall apart. He's careful, gentle, caring.

Four knew something was very, very wrong. He knew it oh so well from when he first started tearing the skin from fallen beasts. He tried to stop himself several times, even tying his hair up and tucking it under his hood to make sure that he doesn't unconsciously grab anything. Yet time and time again, despite his efforts, he always falls back into the same old patterns.

He's tried going back to cloth, hiding his hair and tying his hands, throwing out his needles and even asking, begging, pleading for the others to help him.

And they try.

They hide his needles (useless thanks to his hair), they have him sit out of fights (yet he always pulls his skin), they've punished him (but it somehow made the temptation stronger), they've tied him up when the urge hits (yet he gets untied eventually).

Nothing.

Nada.

He always finds a way out, stitching and stitching to quench his obsession. Colors, colors, now without a pattern, spread out on several other colors and more colors, over, under, over, under. All woven together in patchy, fleshy quilts.

His own skin, looking more like the clothing he wears on top of it, filled with several golden threads blended with many, many colors that don't belong.

It's an obsession, a very unhealthy one. He knows this.

He knows this because no one else in his village does this.

He knows this because his skin around his arms is beginning to look closer to his foes than the boy it had originally belonged to.

He knows because the others are trying to help him. They're doing their best to break this spell, this curse. 

He knows because he's trying so, so hard to stop it. Because he knows it's bad and he needs to stop it before he breaks himself.

Four knows. Everyone knows. Yet as he finishes another square of black and blue, he still searches through his pack for more, more, more colors.

He'll never feel satisfied and he'll never break through.

Even as the skin on his arms begin to sag. Even after his bag becomes soaked in water and even blood from the days he felt too lazy to clean.

He wants to quit. This addiction is a disgusting curse. A blight upon his person.

It's getting better, he knows that. He doesn't take as many skins. He doesn't search for his needle and thread so often. There haven't been any new colors in his body yet.

He coughs as he stitches, yet he doesn't stitch as often. And even if the number of hairballs coming out of him has been increasing, even though he still can't stop stitching, there's still fewer skins. Less thread being used.

Four feels freed, even if it seems like a lie. Even if he feels jittery, his hair refusing to sit still, he knows that he's getting better.

The number skins that he had piled up in his pouch begin to dwindle. The amount of thread that still remains barely changes.

Maybe it was difficult and maybe it still is, but the thought of no longer being bound to needles and thread is liberating. It makes his small heart soar in delight.

And as he finishes up his quilt of his story, one of cloth and wool, he feels comfort in his stitching for the first time in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated!!!


End file.
